absolute, by Arthur Yap

So here is the Arthur Yap poem, the ending of which led me to posting O’Hara’s ‘Steps’ the other day. (While the start, with its late sun, is a scenic inverse of O’Hara’s late sleeper in ‘A True Account of Talking to the Sun on Fire Island’.)

//

morning is already late
in rounding the corner of living,
windowpanes of tiny raindrops
cling uncertainly, left from night rain.

strange you are asleep,
often waking so early
to see the leaves weave
skeins of cool air between trees
at the corner of these buildings.
i think i’ll get this in a picture,
hang it on a nail
& set the sky within its frame.

seeing,
i shall dispel dimness.
& sorry if i should awaken you;
i’ve gathered morning like a flower,
it doesn’t smell for me.
(i can tell by the cheer in your eyes
you’ve never quite learnt to believe).
later, & still later of the morning,
morning it is,
& absolutely nothing is wrong.

[Read in The Space of City Trees, published by Skoob.]